Pensieve Shmensieve
by Ferret2
Summary: A series of drabbles that touch on the many cliches of the HP fandom, as well as answer a few of its burning questions. Inspired by Naruto World Facts of Life.
1. One to Six

**Disclaimer:** Everything HP belongs to Miss Rowling. The idea for this was inspired by Sadie Dragonfire's _Naruto World Facts of Life_. Credit goes where credit's due.  
**Notes:** I thought Sadie Dragonfire had something going when she created _NWFoL_, so I thought I'd try my hand at poking fun at the many clichés of the HP fandom. Because, believe me, it's well deserved. No harm meant, of course, so don't torch me. Jonah

* * *

**1. JKR neither confirms nor denies a 'ship—**

Hermione Granger had just about enough of girls. She supposed it was partly her fault, as she constantly chose the company of two teenage boys than specimens of her own gender, but, really, she imagined even Gandhi wouldn't be able to tolerate the more giggly component of the human race, had he been sitting in the middle of what seemed like the least significant conversation ever. 

"—he's got about the most gorgeous eyes in our whole year!" one of Hermione's dorm mates squealed, sending the other girls sitting around her into fresh round of giggles. 

"Nuh-uh!" one of the other girls chimed in. "It's got to be that Ravenclaw Keeper! They're _so_ blue!" More giggles. 

Hermione, from her perch on her bed on the other side of the room (thank _Merlin_), turned to address them before she even knew she was talking. "You _do_ realize they've both got girlfriends, don't you?" 

It seemed as if the world had suddenly stilled as a sea (alright, a _pond_) of heads turned in her direction. The looks they were giving her where just a shy away from friendly, and Hermione then realized that the boys were right, she wasn't all that smart, apparently. 

"And I suppose _you'd_ know a lot about being a girlfriend, wouldn't you?" the leader of the group said scathingly, making Hermione wonder how the girl had made such a large leap. 

"No, of course not—" 

"Could have fooled us," one of the other girls interrupted. "You sure hang around Harry and Ron enough." 

Oh, Hermione knew where _that_ was leading. "Now, wait just a second—" 

"You mean to say you're not interested in them?" 

"No, I never said—" 

"Oh, so you are?" 

"No! I—" 

"Who'd it be, then? Harry?" 

"_Harry?_ He's my—" 

"So Ron?" 

"_What?_ Ron's—" 

"Well you've got to make up your mind sooner or later," the leader stated bluntly, and just as Hermione was about to launch into one of her famous lectures, the leader had turned her head and initiated a conversation about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. 

"_Honestly_," Hermione hissed indignantly, which thankfully went unnoticed by the other girls. 

What bothered her the most, though, was that the little twit was right. 

**2. —because it's just much more fun that way.**

Ron waited until Harry was out of the room before he dared ask the question that'd been on his mind for so long. 

"Why'd you do it?" 

Hermione actually looked up from her book. "Do what?" 

Ron pointedly kept his eyes off the _Potter Stinks!_ button he held, but his hand gripped it tightly anyway. "Stay with Harry," he replied, the rest of his sentence hanging invisible in the air between them: _and not with me._

Hermione pursed her lips slightly, in the way that always reminded the boys of their Transfiguration professor, before bringing her eyes back to her book. "You had Seamus and Dean, Ron," she stated evenly. 

Ron's grip shook. "You know that's not what I mean." 

There was the briefest of pauses before Hermione heaved a heavy sigh. She closed her book and gently put it aside. "He needed me," she told him, just as gently as she had handled her book, "more than you did, at the time. Do you understand?" 

Ron considered her answer and thought, _no, I don't._

But he nodded anyway. 

**3. The line between love and hate is paper-thin—**

Sometimes James's friends worried about him. Oh, they were used to seeing him in bandages and crutches because, let's face it, he wasn't exactly the most cautious flyer on the team, but when he'd walk into the dorm with that goofy smile on his face—the kind that usually meant he'd done something stupid, and in front of a girl—they worried. 

"You alright there, mate?" Sirius was the first to ask, because James was his best mate, and that's what best mates do. 

"Absolutely perfect," came James's usual reply, only now he'd emitted a dreamy sigh and fell unto his bed, arms outstretched and grinning like a maniac. 

It was about at that time that Sirius, Remus, and Peter realized that something _good_ had happened, and all three boys immediately dropped what they were doing to rush to the other boy's bedside. 

"Was it Lily?" Remus boldly asked, which was a rarity in itself, but one phenomenon at a time. 

"Uh huh," James sighed, gazing dreamily at a spot on their ceiling. 

"This must be good," chuckled Sirius, "he's speechless!" 

"Spill!" Peter shouted, as the less tactful one of the group. 

James's grin never faltered. "I told her she had the prettiest arse I'd ever seen, and she slapped me across the face." 

The three of the four Marauders that had not been grinning like an idiot blinked, processing their friend's words. 

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Remus said slowly, tentatively, "but I thought that was a bad thing?" 

James let out a shaky sound—one that Sirius was tempted to call a 'giggle', but decided it was probably best he didn't—before joyfully exclaiming, "She touched me!" He sighed again, completely awestruck, as his nimble Seeker fingers danced across the side of his face that was quickly reddening. 

His three friends exchanged woeful glances. 

Sometimes they really worried about him. 

**4. —but it's there.**

When Hermione realized that the sound she had heard—like a coiled, wet rag snapping across a table surface—and the pain she had felt—like a cold burning sensation on the base of her palm—were results of a violent action _she_ had committed, her eyes had grown to the size of Galleons. 

It was unsettling, to say the least. 

Hermione's eyes focused from her hand to the one she'd connected it to, and saw the disbelief and fear in the Slytherin's eyes. Somewhere behind her, Hagrid was breathing raggedly, and she could make out the vaguest exhalation of, "Whoa." 

It was a split second, less than an eye-blink, but it was all the time she needed to remember why she'd swung her hand back in the first place. She narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth, and unleashed verbal hell on Draco Malfoy. 

**5. Harry Potter is a children's book—**

It was a particularly hot morning, and after a few minutes of incessant whining, the Gryffindors managed to break down their stern Transfigurations professor, forcing her to carry out the rest of their lesson out in the school lawns. They were turning lizards into armchairs that day, and Ron, Harry, and Hermione had partnered up to save Filch from having to hunt down more lizards. 

The two boys had long since taken off their black robes, but the taunting breeze of the outside urged them to remove their sweater vests as well. Hermione had been pretty diligent about tending to the school's dress code up til then, but even she could not help but remove the extra clothing upon stepping into the dewy lawn. She'd actually gone one step further and unbuttoned the first two buttons of her white polo, reasoning that her long hair made it harder for her than her male companions. 

When they finally got down to transfiguring, their appointed lizard was nowhere to be found. They searched high and low, only to realize the lizard had made a home in Hermione's breast pocket—something the young teen still found worthy to scream about, despite the fact that she'd handled worse before. 

During the mad hussle, which contained a lot of screaming and exaggerated flailing, it came upon Harry to solve the problem. 

Of course, only when he had his hand placed firmly around Hermione's breast did he really begin to think about his solution. Everyone else was thankfully too far away to notice their awkward position, but Ron was there, standing right beside them and staring wide-eyed. 

Harry was torn, because he _had_ to let go, didn't he, but if he did, that'd mean the lizard'd go free which would just make the entire action pointless. Hermione seemed to have taken it upon herself to solve his predicament by huffily slapping his hand away and digging in her pocket to retrieve the renagade lizard herself. She let the lizard fall to the ground before deftly transfiguring it to an armchair, looking both embarrassed and angry as she did so. 

Harry worried his lip, an apology forming in his mouth, when Ron's sudden laughter cut through the strained silence. Harry glared at him, finding nothing funny about the situation, when Hermione suddenly broke into giggles. Harry stared at both of them, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment—which only served to send Ron over the edge and the redhead doubled over, clutching his stomach as tears rolled down his freckled cheeks. 

"Y-You should have seen your f-face!" Ron finally managed to get out, choking on his laughter, and Hermione squealed, forcing a reluctant smile on Harry's lips. It took a while, but soon, Harry was laughing just as hard. 

**6. —except when it's not.**

There were nights when Harry would dream of a darkened graveyard. Othertimes he'd fall asleep to a cold room with a tall, looming arch. Sometimes he'd wake up feeling the weight of Cedric's body in his arms, and more often than not, he'd remember the way Sirius had never even seen the veil, never saw the dark, emptyness he was falling into. 

He'd think of the prophecy, and what it required him to do. He'd think he couldn't do it, that he couldn't be a murderer. But then he'd think of the look on Amos Diggory's face and the future he could have had with a godfather, and he'd think it wouldn't be as hard as he's making it to be. He didn't want to be a cold-blooded killer like Voldemort, as sometimes he'd fear he will be, but all he'd have to do was remember his parents, and Cedric, and Sirius, and all the other people who'd died at that bastard's hands. 

And sometimes it helped him sleep at night.

* * *

Review plzkthx. 


	2. Seven to Nine

**7. Really, Draco doesn't seem to _mind_ Pansy's company.**

When Pomfrey finally allowed her to see him, Draco was already bandaged up and sitting upright on his bed. He was scowling something awful, though, and Pansy knew it was more of his pride than his arm that was injured. She approached him tentatively, waiting until they made eye contact before daring to speak. 

"How are you?" she asked as she came to stand by his bed. 

"How the bloody hell do you _think_ I am?" he bit out angrily. He cast a scornful look to his arm, which lay limp on his lap. "Bloody Potter showed me up _again_, I nearly _died_, and that big oaf is _still_ teaching!" 

Pansy gazed at him sympathetically. "For now," she said, simply. "I'm sure once your father finds out, that lout will be out of the school in no time." 

Draco made a frustrated sound in the depths of his throat before turning away. "Whatever. I want to be alone now, Parkinson. Go away." 

"I'm only trying to help—" 

"Well you're doing a bloody awful job," snapped Draco. "So bugger off." 

Pansy blew out an indignant puff of breath and clenched her fists. "Fine," she nearly shouted, before turning sharply on her heel. She'd made it halfway to the door when Draco's voice called out to her again. She turned, glaring. "_What?_" 

"You're actually leaving?" he asked her, looking genuinely surprised. 

She placed her hands on her hip. "You said you wanted to be alone." 

"And you believed me?" he asked, amused. "Don't tell me you're going soft, Pans." 

Pansy actually growled. "You're a bloody prat," she bit out, but she came to stand beside him anyway. 

**8. It isn't that Ron's oblivious, he just doesn't know what to do.**

"Fred," Ron hissed, catching the attention of his older brother across the common room. "I need to speak with you." 

Fred looked at him oddly. "You haven't swallowed one of those gumballs, have you? Because I told George not to put them out, I swear I did—" 

"No," Ron said, growing impatient. "No, there's something I have to ask you." 

Fred, sensing the younger Weasley's dire attitude, nodded sagely. "Alright, ask away." 

"It's…" Ron sighed, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. "It's about girls." He waited for the burst of laughter, but, surprisingly, Fred didn't do anything of the sort. In fact, he looked… Well, he looked sort of _proud_. 

"It's about bloody time," Fred said finally, a grand smile lighting up his features. "George and I were getting a bit worried, really. I mean, even _Percy_ had shown some interest by fourth year—" 

"Look, are you going to help me or not?" Ron snapped, sure that his ears were now a glowing, fire-red. 

"Of course I will," Fred answered happily, before he suddenly looked worried and held up a hand. "Wait—this isn't anything, ah, _personal_ is it? Because if that's the case, I think dad would be better suited—" 

"Personal?" Ron echoed, frowning. 

"You know," Fred urged, "_personal. Intimate._ Birds and the Bees-like?" When Ron continued to give him a blank look, he let out an exasperated sound and gestured helplessly with his hands. "Sex. Intercourse. Wanking-in-the-middle-of-the-night type of—" 

Ron threw up his hands. "_No!_" he nearly screamed, his face burning scarlet. "Merlin, _no_, no, I just—wanted to know what to get a girl for Christmas, that's all." 

Fred's smile was back on in an instant. "Oh," he said, "well, alright. So, who's the girl?" Ron only glared at him, his cheeks as red as his hair. Fred nodded. "Secret, gotcha." He put a finger on his chin. "Well, what's she into?" 

"Into?" 

"Yeah, her interests. That's usually a winner, right there." 

Ron frowned thoughtfully. "Well… she likes to read a lot, I guess." 

"So get her a book." 

"But she always gets books," said Ron, shaking his head. "I don't want to get her something she gets from everybody else." 

"Ah, so you want to give her something _special_," said Fred. "How 'bout perfume? Or jewelry?" 

Ron made a face. "She's not really that kind of a girl," he said. "And I don't really want to get her anything _special_ special, just… just something different. Something she'll remember." 

"Do you like her?" came Fred's blunt question. 

"Like her?" repeated Ron, his face contorting into a look of deep thought. "I'm not really sure. I just know I want her to know I care, even if I'm not really sure _how much_ I care at the moment…" 

Fred scratched his head. "Gee, Ron, I don't really know. This seems like something you'll have to figure out yourself. It might actually be better that way." 

"How do you mean?" 

"Well," sighed Fred, "if you gave her something _I_ helped you out with, it won't really mean as much. Whereas you give her something you thought of on your own." 

"But that's the problem," sighed Ron, "I don't have a clue what to give her!" 

"Well, you've got now til Christmas to figure it out." 

"Figure what out?" chimed an extra voice, one that sounded an awful lot like the first voice, belonging to a face that looked a lot like the first face. 

"Ickle Ronniekins here doesn't know what to give his girlfriend for Christmas," answered Fred. 

George gave Ron a cheeky grin. "We've got a new batch of Wart Waffles coming in; we'll even give you the family discount." 

"I'm not going to give her warts for Christmas," scoffed Ron. "And she's _not_ my girlfriend." 

"Chocolates?" said George, after a moment of thinking. 

"Ron wants it to _mean_ something," snickered Fred. 

"Awe, how cuuuute," George cooed, and the two twins immediately dived on him, pinching his cheeks and ruffling his hair. 

Ron fought them both away, his neck enflamed with red. "Bugger off!" he said, stalking away. 

"What about perfume?" George called after him, and the two twins chortled as he increased his speed to his dormitory. 

"I knew I should have asked Ginny," Ron lamented. 

**9. What Lucius wants, Lucius gets.**

Stormy gray eyes narrowed as Lucius Malfoy beat a steady rhythm with the tip of his wand, cracking the table's polished surface and causing an involuntary twitch on the store owner's left eye. 

"You do realize," he drawled impatiently, "that I do not have all day." 

The store owner visibly winced, doubling his efforts in sifting through the mass of papers that was his official documents. "A-Are you sure you don't want me to just fly them to you?" the store owner cautioned, pausing in his search to wipe his dampening forehead. "It would be m-much more convenient that way—" 

"_No_," came the dark reply, and the store owner's twitch grew much more erratic. 

"B-But it's most troublesome," the store owner persisted. "To buy such a load, then carry it yourself is a bit unorthodox—" 

"I do not remember asking you for advice," the eldest Malfoy clipped. His beating became more hurried and edgy. "Have you not found the papers yet?" 

"H-Here they are," the store owner nearly wept with joy. He brandished the slightly crumpled stack of papers as if they were the one thing keeping him alive—which wasn't that far of a stretch, considering… "Just sign here and here," he said, fighting hard to keep the sigh of relief from escaping his mouth. As he handed the quill over, he couldn't resist asking the question he'd been dying to ask since the Malfoy had walked in. "M-Might I ask who they're for?" 

Lucius Malfoy took the quill, cast the store owner a brief and chilling glance before replying, just as coldly, "They're for my son." 

"A-Ah," was all the store owner could say. 

Lucius Malfoy signed, rushed but fluid, and bid the store owner adieu as he walked out of the store, his large purchase charmed to follow him. Only when the daunting figure of the eldest Malfoy disappeared from view, did the store owner release the breath he had been holding. A shaky hand came up to rest on his heart while the other proceeded to wipe his forehead dry. 

It wasn't everyday a man like Lucius Malfoy walks into the Quality Quidditch Supplies. 


End file.
